


What's Another Word For "You"?

by Ltleflrt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Editor Castiel, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Writer Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt
Summary: When Castiel offers to protect Dean from his adoring fans by going with him to a convention, he intended to act as an unofficial bodyguard.  But Dean misinterprets his offer in the best kind of way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea rolling around in my head for a while, but I was afraid to start working on it because I didn't want to start an accidental longfic while I'm working on No Words since I can only handle one long fic at a time. But I was banging my head against writer's block with that fic, while still in the mood to write _something_. Once again I was challenged to write a short fic under 5k. It looks like I'm capable of it if someone dares me to lol
> 
> Thanks to unforth and cinnamonrollhagrid for challenging me. And thanks to jupiterjames for help with the title :D

The opening guitar riffs of Travelling Riverside Blues startles Castiel from a dreamless sleep, and without opening his eyes he rolls onto his side and pats around on the bedside table until he feels smooth glass of the screen under his hand.  The song cuts off, and he’s pretty sure he accidentally answered the call, so he doesn’t bother to do more than press the offending piece of technology to his ear and hope it’s right side up.

“What.”  It’s not a question, it’s a demand.  Castiel had gone to bed somewhat late, and since it’s clearly not morning, Dean must be calling him at the most ungodly hour.

“Hey, what’s another word for ‘enthusiasm’?”

Castiel frowns and lifts his face from where it’s smashed into his pillow and pries his eyes open, only to narrow them again as he tries to focus on the extra large numbers on his alarm clock.  They’re four inches tall, but still blurry because he was good and actually removed his contacts before bed this time.  When he sees the time, he groans and drops his face back to the pillow.  His words are muffled when he speaks.  “Dean, it’s three-fourteen a.m.”

“Hey, pie o’clock!”

“Dean,” Castiel moans.

“I should order some pie.”

“Dean.” This time it’s a little more clear, and emphasized by his annoyance.  “Why are you calling me at stupid o’clock in the morning?”

“Oh yeah.  I need another word for ‘enthusiasm’.”

Castiel is silent for several heartbeats as he tries to parse whether this conversation is really happening or if he’s dreaming.  He speaks the first words that come to mind.  “Interest, fervor, frenzy, ardor-”

“Ardor!  That’s perfect!  Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel grunts in response, and listens to the click-clickety-click of a keyboard on the other end of the line.  The fucker is working on his laptop.  “Why did you call me?  Thesaurus.com is a wonderful resource you know.”

“Wi-fi is down at the coffee shop.” The clicking doesn’t pause, but Dean has the odd ability to work and talk at the same time.  He’s not always coherent, and sometimes he trails off mid-thought, but he’s still better at multitasking than Castiel will ever hope to be.  “Besides, you’re kind of hilarious when you’re half asleep.”

“ _ Mostly _ asleep,” Castiel protests.  “Asshole.”

Dean’s deep chuckle warms Castiel, and despite his irritation at having his sleep interrupted, he smiles.  He rolls onto his back and rubs at his eyes, although it doesn’t make the grogginess recede.  Morning’s are not his forte on a reasonable amount of sleep, but what he got before Dean called him could barely be called a nap.  “You’re at Benny’s?”

“Yeah, needed caffeine and I’m out of coffee.  Sam drank most of it while he was cramming for finals, the little shit.”  Dean is talking a mile a minute, which means Benny has definitely been providing the espressos, even if he’s not providing an internet connection.

A yawn stretches Castiel’s jaw, distorting his words.  “New chapter’s going well, huh?”

“Fuck no.  I’ve rewritten this scene so many times I’m about ready to stab myself in the face.”

Castiel almost says  _ please don’t ruin such a pretty face _ , but he’s awake enough to keep that thought to himself.  There has always been light flirting between them, but recently Castiel has tried to tone it down.  Ever since he realized he wanted it to be real instead of just slightly off color joking between friends, it’s been harder to find it funny.  

Instead he does the job Dean has been paying him to do for the last five years.  “Is it anything I can help you with?”  

There’s a long sigh.  “You could get me out of this convention bullshit.”

“I’m your editor, not your publicist.  Make Crowley do his job and cancel it for you.” 

“I tried, and it didn’t work.”

Dean sounds like such a petulant little boy that Castiel grins.  “Talked his way around you again, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, the fucker,” Dean mumbles.  The clicking in the background stops, and Dean’s voice is tight with anxiety when he continues.  “I know the publicity is good, but these things make me nervous as hell, man.”

Since Dean isn’t exactly an introvert, Castiel is confused by the confession.  “Why?”

“I just… get hit on a lot.  And I’m not exactly looking for that kind of interaction with my fans, you know?”

One of the things Castiel likes about Dean is his integrity.  Other authors he’s worked with over the years have been quick to take advantage of the exact situation Dean is describing.  But Dean doesn’t want to take advantage of the star-struck women that throw themselves at him, and not just because he’s worried about his own reputation.  He really cares about his fanbase, and prefers to keep things professional with them.

But he  _ does _ get hit on a lot.  His pretty eyes and soft lips are perfectly framed by masculine cheeks and jaw, and Castiel himself has felt a bit of a swoon come on when Dean flashes a dimpled smile.  It’s no wonder that his fans take one look at him and want a piece of him.

Castiel would prefer the whole package, but he knows Dean personally.  He’s more than a pretty mask over a dark imagination.  And as an editor, Castiel has a plethora of words to describe all the things he loves about Dean.  Not that he’ll ever use them.  No one needs to know about the flame Castiel is harboring for Dean.  Their relationship will never go past friendship, and he’s honestly okay with that.

Most of the time.

Ignoring the melancholy thoughts of what can never be, Castiel refocuses on Dean’s issue.  As Dean’s friend and editor, he has the perfect solution.  “I could go with you.”

“What?  Why?”

“The more amorous fans may be dissuaded from pestering you if you’re not alone.”

There’s a soft noise that sounds like a sharp inhale.  “You’d… do that for me?”

“Of course, Dean.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

“Anytime.” Castiel pauses, but when Dean doesn’t say anything, he prompts “Do you need anything else, or can I go back to bed?”

This time Dean’s laugh is the full experience.  Castiel can picture him sitting at his favorite table next to the window of Benny’s coffee shop, his face open with joy as he tosses his head back and his whole body shakes with humor.  The shop’s soft golden lights would make Dean’s freckled skin glow, and his spiky hair look darker than it is.  

“Yeah, Cas.  What’s another word for ‘grumpy’?”

“Cantankerous, crotchety, sullen, bad-tempered-”

“Perfect.  You know you’re a cantankerous, crotchety, sullen, bad-tempered bastard when you’re tired?”

“Fuck you.”

“What’s another word for ‘eloquent’?”

“Goodnight, Dean.”  Castiel cuts off Dean’s laughter by hanging up.  He tosses his phone to the empty half of his bed and rolls over onto his stomach.  He falls asleep smiling, with the echo of Dean’s laughter ringing in his ears.

Xxx

Dean may not be an introvert, but Castiel definitely is, and just looking at the crowds makes his stomach twist into tight knots.  He pauses just outside the huge common area, hand immediately wrapping around Dean’s wrist to stop him from walking ahead.

The motion brings Dean’s attention around to him.  He lifts one eyebrow, but there’s only simple curiosity in his gaze.  “What’s up, Clark Kent?”  

He’s been calling Castiel that all morning, teasing him about his thick rimmed glasses that he had to wear because he’s out of disposable contacts.  Castiel barely flicks an eyelash at the nickname.  He’s used to Dean’s silly pop-culture references.  “That’s a lot of people, Dean.”

Dean looks out at the shifting sea of con-goers for a moment before he looks back at Castiel.  “Not all of them are here to see me, you know.  It’s not like we’re gonna get trampled if we go out there.  I’m not  _ that  _ popular.”

Castiel huffs and slants Dean a glare.  “And yet you’re the one afraid of the hordes of women descending on you this weekend.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘hordes’,” Dean responds with a roll of his eyes.  

“Gang, mob, swarm, droves-”

“Alright, alright, I got it.” Dean twists his wrist free of Castiel’s grip, but in the same move twines their fingers together.  He tugs Castiel up against his side and gives him a warm smile, all shining green eyes, unfairly perfect teeth, and adorable dimples.  “But I have you here to protect me from my droves of adoring fans, right?”

Castiel’s whole world narrows down to the feel of their palms pressed together.  He looks down at their clasped hands, and wonders how long it will take for his short circuiting brain to reboot.  It’s locked up on a single thought:

Dean. Is holding. His hand.

His voice is weak when he speaks.  “Right.”

Dean squeezes his hand.  “Awesome.”  Castiel expects him to let go, but he doesn’t.  He pulls Castiel along with him into a brief opening in the crowd.  “C’mon, let’s go check out the vendors.”

Despite the press of humanity all around them, Castiel thoroughly enjoys the next few hours.  Dean drags him from vendor table to vendor table, only letting him go when he needs both hands to make a purchase.  But he always grabs Castiel again as soon as he’s done.  

It doesn’t occur to him at first what’s happening, but as they pass through the crowds, he eventually comes out of his happy haze and notices the looks people are giving them.  More than once he catches sight of people’s eyes lighting up with recognition when they see Dean, and then immediately they look at Castiel in confusion, which melts away into knowing smiles or disappointed frowns.  

Braver fans occasionally stop them to talk to Dean, and the first time Dean introduces Castiel as his boyfriend, Castiel’s heart sinks.  When he’d offered to come with Dean, he’d meant to act as a shield, but he hadn’t meant to be his fake boyfriend.  He’d thought that he’d play the part of a body guard since Dean refuses to hire one.  

He doesn’t mind that Dean understood his offer differently than he meant it, even if he is disappointed.  Walking hand in hand with Dean Winchester is something he’s fantasized about, but actually experiencing it is heady.  Addictive.  Whenever they have to part, he immediately misses the contact.  But despite how much fun he’s having interacting with the vendors, and how much he loves the feel of Dean’s fingers threaded between his own, there’s still a niggling voice in the back of his mind reminding him that this is all for show.

It’s a relief when they finally retreat from the vendor’s area because Dean’s panel is coming up soon.  When they’re out of sight of most of the crowds, Castiel pulls his fingers free of Dean’s.  It’s almost physically painful to do so, but now that the charade is no longer necessary, he needs to put some space between them again, for his own peace of mind.

Dean gives him a searching look and pauses just outside the green room.  “You okay?”

Surprised that Dean noticed his tension, Castiel blinks up at his friend.  He forces a smile.  “Of course.  Just… crowds.  You know.”

The answer seems to satisfy Dean.  His exaggerated eye-roll moves his whole head.  “God, I know.  I’m surprised you let me drag you through that.  Even I was getting itchy for some fresh air and elbow room.”

Castiel’s smile softens.  “You know I’m here for you, Dean.  I can handle the crowds for as long as you need me to.”

Dean goes still, and his eyes flick back and forth between Castiel’s.  A slight frown mars the skin between his brows, and his head tilts as if he’s trying to answer an unknown question by adjusting his viewpoint.  After a moment his expression smoothes out and his lips tilt up in a small smile.  “Thanks, man.  I’m glad you’re here.”

For a long moment, they stand there, a strange pressure building up between them.  The bubble grows, straining against Castiel’s chest and making breathing difficult.  Dean shifts, his lips parting, but before he can speak, the green room’s door opens.  The bubble pops, and Castiel’s body sags now that he’s no longer fighting against it.  

“Dean, there you are.  I was just coming to hunt you down.”  Fergus Crowley, dressed to the nines as always, leans out the door and beckons them in.  “You’re nearly late.  I thought you said you didn’t need a handler.”

“I don’t,” Dean huffs.  He keeps his eyes carefully averted from Castiel as he pushes past Crowley into the green room.  “I knew how much time I had.”

Dean’s publicist looks unconvinced, but he doesn’t push the issue.  Probably because Dean’s panel is about to start and there’s no time left to do so.  His dark eyes flick to Castiel, and he smiles.  It’s not exactly welcoming, but Castiel and Crowley have never been on the best of terms.  They play nice for Dean’s benefit.  “Hello Castiel.”

“Crowley.”

The curt greeting doesn’t phase the other man at all.  His smile widens, but it’s more teeth than anything.  He doesn’t say more, just tilts his head in invitation before disappearing through the portal after Dean.

The panel Dean is participating in is shared with two other horror authors, and Dean introduces them to Castiel in a rush before they head off to their panels.  Castiel knows of them, but has never met them personally.  He passes his card to the perky redhead, Charlie Bradbury when she asks him for it, pleasantly surprised when he learns that Dean has been singing his praises to these people.  

The three authors head out to the stage, and Castiel takes a place just off to the side where he can watch and listen.  Charlie writes horror based in fantasy settings, and Ash writes horror in sci-fi settings.  Dean rounds out the group with his contemporary horror.  Pride fills him as he watches Dean interact with the fans asking questions.  Dean is lively with his answers, funny and engaging.  It’s no wonder that his fans fall for him.

And they don’t even know him the way Castiel does.  They know that Dean suffers from insomnia, which drove him to start writing as a way to fill the time.  But they don’t know that when he’s suffering from insomnia and writer’s block that he’ll empty his closet and his dresser drawers and he’ll iron every piece of clothing he has before folding them or hanging them and putting them back away, because ironing clothes relaxes him.  They know that Dean is obsessed with his car, and was a mechanic before he started writing.  But they don’t know that he also loves motorcycles and is restoring a 1967 Triumph so his Baby will have a little sister.  They know that Dean loves classic rock, and constantly quotes Bob Seger songs in his stories.  But they don’t know that his iPod is hot pink, and when he’s hopped up on too much caffeine he’ll play Taylor Swift while dancing and singing along, happily unaware that he’s completely off-key.

Castiel knows all of these things.  He knows that Dean is allergic to cats, but secretly thinks that black cats are badass.  He knows that Dean orders his coffee black because he thinks he should, but despite his bitching about it, actually loves it with sugar and hazelnut.  He knows that Dean is an amazing cook, a protective brother, and a supportive friend.

He’s seen Dean’s dark side as well.  When he closes off from the world and tries to drown himself in whiskey when he’s angry.  His propensity for self hatred when he makes the smallest mistakes.  And the viciousness he turns on those who would help him.  

They started out as business acquaintances, but quickly became friends.  It didn’t take much longer for Castiel fall for Dean, hard and fast.  And watching Dean now, thriving under the attention of people who appreciate his favorite hobby, that love swells within him until he aches with it.  But he can’t act on it.  

Dean has never explicitly expressed his sexuality, but Castiel suspects he’s not just interested in women.  So it’s not fear of rejection based on his gender that holds him back.  It’s fear that he’s not someone Dean would want a romantic relationship with.  Friendly flirting aside, In all the years they’ve been friends, Dean has never shown Castiel any sign that he’s interested in more than friendship.  And Castiel has been rejected too many times to risk ruining what they have by pursuing something more.

So he stands on the sidelines, and he loves Dean from afar.  It’s enough.

It’s enough.

He’s shaken out of his melancholy thoughts by an unexpected question from a bold fan.

“How would one ask you out on a date?  I’m asking for a ‘friend’.”  She raises her hands and hooks her fingers in exaggerated air quotes.  

The room erupts in laughter, and Dean joins in.  When things quiet down, his grin splits his face and his eyes sparkle, but there’s no doubt that he’s serious when he answers.  “Well, darlin’, I am taken.  But I’ll tell you how he asked me out.”

Out in the audience heads tilt together and the murmur of surprised discussion becomes a dull roar.  Dean isn’t exactly secretive about his personal life, so apparently the fact that he’s “in a relationship” is breaking news.  

Dean ignores the disturbance and looks over at Castiel.  “After I turned in my first manuscript and my editor spent an hour telling me everything that was wrong with it, he offered to buy me dinner to let me know that it wasn’t anything personal and he hoped burgers and pie would help me forgive him.”

The audience roars with laughter, but it’s just a vague rumble to Castiel’s dazed senses.  He stares back and Dean, remembering the exact day he described.  Dean had looked so crestfallen, and Castiel knew that he was on the verge of giving up.  Letting such raw talent fall apart because of his own harsh words was unacceptable.  But even worse, the idea that he may have hurt Dean’s feelings made him ache inside.  He’d offered dinner as an olive branch.  And that pivotal invitation had changed his life forever.  Definitely for the better.

Unsure what reaction Dean is looking for, Castiel gives him a tentative smile.  Dean’s own smile is warm, affectionate.  And something about it makes Castiel’s extremities begin to tingle, and his breathing hitch.  

And then Dean turns back to his fan.  “Offering pie is always the quickest way to my heart.”

She laughs and thanks him for his time before stepping away.  The next fan has a question for Ash, and Castiel tunes it out.  Dean keeps glancing over at him, and Castiel doesn’t know what to make of his expression.  Is that worry?  Hope?  A little of both?

Is Castiel projecting?

The last few questions fly by in a blur, and then the panel is ending.  Dean steps down from the stage, and crowds close to Castiel so Ash and Charlie can get past him.  But once they’re gone, Dean doesn’t open the space between them.  He stares down at Castiel, unblinking, earnest.  His large hands come up to cup around Castiel’s elbows, pulling him even closer.

“I hope it’s okay that I shared that story.”

Castiel blinks.  “Of course, Dean.”

Dean finally looks away, down and to the side.  His cheeks are flushed pink, and he runs his teeth over his bottom lip.  It’s a nervous tick that Castiel has seen many times.  “Cas…”

Breath held, Castiel waits.  The pressure bubble is back, growing between them, but somehow pulling them together instead of pushing them apart.  

After swallowing twice and wetting his lips with his tongue, Dean makes eye contact again.  “Look, I know that this whole boyfriend thing was just an act for the fans-”

Castiel refrains from pointing out that the “boyfriend thing” was Dean’s idea and not his.  It’s not relevant.  And he’s desperate to hear what Dean has to say, as well as terrified that he’s getting his hopes up.  

“-but it kinda hit close to something I’ve wanted for a long time.  Years really.  And I was hoping… I mean, I really liked being with you today, even if I’m not really  _ with you, _ if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t, Dean.”  He can’t stop it.  The hope is growing, spiraling out of his control, choking him with its tendrils.  

With a huffed laugh, Dean rolls his eyes.  He catches Castiel’s gaze again and grins crookedly.  “Hey, what’s another word for ‘boyfriend’?”

It’s a kneejerk reaction to answer.  “Companion, partner, beau-”

Dean tilts his head down, and Castiel cuts off when he feels Dean’s breath against his lips.  “Not exactly the words I’m looking for, Cas.”  He closes the space between them and brushes a soft kiss against Castiel’s mouth.  “How about ‘mine’?”  When there’s no resistance, he kisses Castiel again, more firmly but still chaste.  “Or ‘you’?”

Castiel’s eyes had slipped shut during the second kiss.  Now they snap open and he searches Dean’s expression for any hint that he’s only teasing.  But all he sees is truth, hope, and maybe very possibly… love.

“I think those are excellent words, Dean.”

Dean’s smile spread steady and bright like a sunrise.  “How about we blow this popsicle stand?  Find ourselves a place that serves burgers and pie to seal the deal?”

“Yes.” Castiel nods enthusiastically.  “But will you kiss me again first?”

Cat-calls and wolf-whistles sound out all around them as the audience bears witness to their next kiss, which is far from chaste and leaves Castiel hungry for more than burgers and pie.  When they break apart they’re both breathing hard and grinning.

“Dean, what’s another word for ‘I’ve been waiting for this for a long fucking time’?”

Dean throws his head back and laughs.  He releases Castiel with one hand so he can wipe away tears of mirth.  “I think you nailed it, Cas.”

“Hm…” Castiel smiles slyly.  “Well there’s a reason you always call me at gross o’clock at night, I guess.  You do seem to like to use me as your personal thesaurus.”

“That’s not the only reason I call you.”  Dean wraps an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and turns him so they can walk together out of the panel room.  “Sometimes I just wanna hear your voice.  Because man, I am so… so… hey, what’s another word for ‘in love’?”

Castiel leans into Dean’s side.  He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.  His head feels full of helium, and the rest of him is light as a feather, just barely heavy enough to keep his feet on the ground.  This time he doesn’t list the words that come to mind;  _ affection, desire, devotion, hunger, adoration, lust, HOW I FEEL ABOUT YOU.   _ “I think you nailed it, Dean.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What's Another Word For "You"? [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9601925) by [WaywardAF67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardAF67/pseuds/WaywardAF67)




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